Far From Home
by Contrarian
Summary: [One shot] Bartimaeus is summoned for the first time after Ptolemy's death.


**Far From Home**

_May it be an evening star_

_Shines down upon you_

_May it be, when darkness falls,_

_Your heart will be true_

_You walk a lonely road_

_Oh, how far you are from home…_

**_Enya: May It Be_**

In the Other Place, time is meaningless. It's impossible to determine because nothing is fixed, but forever moving: separating, merging, and swirling around in very beautiful chaos. But as I felt the all-too-familiar tugging at my essence, as I was ripped from my natural environment, I was sure of this: it hadn't been long enough. All the anger, sorrow, and guilt wouldn't dissipate for at least another few millennia.

Despite all the usual attempts to resist, I was yanked into the mortal world. I ran through my options for a form listlessly, already anticipating the pain of being trapped on Earth. I landed in the pentacle with a resounding _boom_, disguised as a fully-fledged minotaur. Literally: I had thrown enormous eagle's wings on my back for the heck of it, but due to the constraints of the pentacle I couldn't spread them out to their fullest extent. It wasn't going to win any prizes for the most creative form, but cut me a little slack; I was uncharacteristically morose.

I was also uncharacteristically inarticulate, as evidenced by the way I addressed the new pain in my essence: "What now?"

The man in the pentacle opposite me took his time answering, choosing to sniff and huff and act all offended at my lack of groveling instead of giving me my orders and being done with it. I disliked him instantly. For one thing, he was surpassingly ugly: very tall but altogether too thin, stooping, with a pinched face, pursed lips, and a pale, balding head. Before I could stop myself, I noted the contrast between this man and the small, dark-skinned, striking boy I had known.

I was taken aback by the emotions instigated by that simple comparison. My thoughts scrambled and clashed; it was suddenly difficult to maintain my earthly form. I found myself wanting to roar until the building collapsed around me, until the stars shook.

Until I could forget Ptolemy and his sacrifice, and my inability to save him when the time came.

With the restraint that is my defining trait, I suppressed that urge. Meanwhile, oblivious to my inner turmoil, the skinny man had gotten over his indignation enough to speak.

"Bartimaeus," he declared in a nasally voice, "I give you your charge: there is a man named Johannes Trosper who wishes me ill. Locate him and monitor his actions, unnoticed by all, and inform me of any activity that may lead to my harm. I will be summoning you every evening for a full report."

"Seems like a lot of trouble," I said, examining a claw. "Are you sure you don't want me to arrange a convenient accident for him instead?"

The man blinked rapidly. Could he honestly _not _have thought of that? What breed of moron was I dealing with here? On some level I was almost grateful for his stupidity – the return of my scathing wit was a welcome distraction from…other things.

He recovered his composure enough to say, as if he had been planning it all along, "It may soon come to that, but I would like definitive proof of his hostility before any…unfortunate mishaps."

An almost inhuman leer spread across his face as he said those last two words. I shuddered inwardly with disgust. After my time with Ptolemy, I had almost forgotten the wicked nature of most other humans. Watching the skinny man cackling with glee, I determined that there would never be another mortal like my former master. He was unique.

"Very well," I said, sounding overwhelmingly bored. "Can you give me any further information about this Trosper person that will help me find him?"

"Help?" the man sneered. "You seek to waste my time – no! – you're trying to trick me somehow! Your demonic powers will be enough to do what I command. Now, go!"

I went. There was no sense hanging around this paranoid, overly uncooperative excuse for an intelligent life form. I wheeled through the sky as a raven, muttering curses as I went (no small feat with a beak, let me tell you – some of these searing phrases were in Aramaic). After speeding through the air for a few minutes, I realized I had no idea where I was going. Hmm. Embarrassing. I perched on the first tree branch in my path and ran through the information I had at hand.

Half a second later, I reached the end of my one-item list. A name was all I had. Oh, well. I'd dealt with worse before. Much worse. There was the time I had to locate a precious pendant lost in the middle of a vast desert, without even the vaguest description to help me in my search. Constructing a palace of glass with the unwelcome "help" of thousands of clumsy imps constantly breaking the building materials – that had been a whole new level of fun. Finding a man whose name I knew within the boundaries of one city shouldn't be too difficult by comparison.

Maybe, if I was really lucky, he would walk under the tree I was perched in. Then again, luck hadn't been in my favor as of late. Sure, I'd escaped a few potentially dangerous situations, but If I'd had the choice between getting Ptolemy out of danger and avoiding a scrap with Faquarl, I know which one I'd have chosen.

I really had to stop thinking those kinds of things. Anyway, what was I doing? I wouldn't get anywhere sitting in a tree. If I wanted to know who Johannes Trosper was, I'd have to ask. And that meant taking on the unsavory form of a human. I flitted my way into an unobtrusive alley and started trying out disguises.

I found myself consistently dissatisfied with each look I tried. Old man, young woman, middle-aged person of questionable orientation…all of them made my essence prickle the moment I settled into their form. Being on earth hurt more than usual; I just wanted to be home.

Home…

Still in the guise of either a man with a suspiciously proportioned torso or a woman with an unusual amount of facial hair, I leaned against the wall and shut my external eyes. Slowly I let the memories seep fully into my mind, and I pictured his shape. The moles on his neck and his knobby joints, the dark skin and smooth hair, I pictured it as clearly as if he was standing in front of me, and felt my shape shift.

I looked down at myself. I felt my face – his face.

And smiled.

For a minute I had forgotten all about my new master, and this Trosper person. I'd discovered that I still had Ptolemy, in a way. I could remember him like this, since he couldn't be harmed by my disguise.

I flexed my hands, watching the brown skin stretch over the bones. I'd never replicated a human so exactly before – none of them had ever given me a reason to – and I found that I almost felt comfortable in a mortal form when I took on his shape.

Something had to be done about the loincloth, obviously, but overall it was…good. I could work with good. In Ptolemy's skin, it felt like I was that much closer to home.

_All recognizable characters and settings belong to Jonathan Stroud. The lyrics aren't mine, either._

(I'm not dead yet! Hope you liked it.)


End file.
